Poker Face
by MaggieMayI
Summary: Maggie knows what she wants, and more importantly what she needs. Will she let herself have it? Maggie musings on Hal post "Love and Other Acts of Courage". One-shot.


**Poker Face**

She wasn't surprised when he fell asleep before her. She'd closed her eyes in hopes of finding some solace, despite her hatred for her sterile surroundings, but it didn't come. Eventually he shifted in the hard plastic chair, resting his elbow on the bed—his head in the crook of his arm, all without letting go of her hand. The effortless comfort was something almost foreign to her. She was glad he held on because while she'd never admit it, she wasn't quite ready to let go.

It wasn't until his breath evened out that she dared to open her eyes again. She couldn't help but stare—it was a rare opportunity when she could just look without being entrapped in his wondering gaze. She swore in those moments he could see through her façade. He could see her like no one else could—or wanted to.

She was used to holding all the cards. Draw two machine guns blazing, straight flushed face, pocket bullets and aces up her sleeve; Maggie never gave away her hand. Hell, even when she was all out of chips, life managed to deal her a brand new run. But rebuilding a life amongst so much death was no easy feat.

The cavernous space in her mind was constantly filled with worry and fear, though she'd always deny it. Overanalyzing was one of the many downsides to having holes in your head in a post alien invasion world—too much empty space and not enough 'good' to fill it with.

She's living, breathing proof that a person can become accustomed to anything, including regularly scheduled dates with death. But it wasn't just her life she thought of now. Her gaze fell on the features of his face. He shifted in his sleep as she slowly disentangled her hand from his. Almost unconsciously, her thumb ghosted over his forehead—the worry lines that shouldn't yet be etched in his skin failed to disappear even in sleep.

As she continued to study his face, she thought about how quickly things had changed between them. A few months ago they were strangers, her and this soldier boy turned man. Circumstance made him a leader in the eyes of the 2nd Mass, but she knew better than most that a new lease on life didn't diminish the influence of the one that came before. As an expert in personal tragedy she can read it in the depths of his stare. He's just another soul, searching this broken world for the promise of something real to hold onto.

He tries to play it cool but she can read his tell. That heart displayed ever so beautifully on his sleeve—a badge of honor that speaks of courage yet reveals his innocence. But his straightforward, take charge attitude carries with it wisdom that shouldn't be learned at this early age. And with it, he worked his way in. The jig was up. And she had one of two choices—all in, or fold.

She wants nothing more than to give him what he wants—and what she needs, but the 'what if's' eat away at her, gnaw at her insides until it becomes too painful to consider conceding. What if she isn't good enough for him? What if he changes his mind? What if the cancer comes back? What if he dies? So instead she hides behind her fear, masked as strength, played off as indifference.

He doesn't know enough to know any better, but her poker face is legendary. An art form mastered by staring at ceilings—not unlike the one currently looming over their heads—as doctors delivered her fate time and again with a flourish of over-concern and one eye on the clock.

A foreign entity had assaulted her body—it moved in—it took over. It dictated her life and threatened her with death. It took control. So Maggie learned to control what she could—her reactions, her emotions, her outlook. But over time, cancer beats you down.

The parade of family and friends, their gazes filled with confusion and pity—at first Maggie tried to make the best of it. Little did she know it could actually hurt to smile. When it became too much for them to bear, they stopped visiting. All she could muster was relief.

The third time on the table, she only felt numb. The tears had long dried up. Everything and everyone was gone, and she couldn't honestly decide if she wanted it all back. But she woke up. She opened her eyes, picked her up her cards and started to play again.

But this hand was different. Just as Maggie dared to believe that she was strong enough to up the ante, her life was invaded once again. However this time, the foreign entities were not so easy to remove. That's the downside to alien invasions.

But she lived on. The 2nd Mass brought with it a chance for survival. The people welcomed her—for the first time in a long time she felt like she belonged. Her and Hal worked well together, they were partners, friends. As the days passed they grew closer—he became important. That scared her more than anything. More than dying. More than living.

_Was it too much to want a little bit of normal?_ She wondered as her gaze once again returned to his face. If it meant keeping him alive—maybe.

He could have been killed saving her sorry ass. But as fate would have it, death was deferred yet again. Next time they might not be so lucky.

Maggie had given up on a lot of things over the years—mostly because it's just easier to pretend not to care. Healing is simple when you don't admit you're broken. But this one would be hard. Hard because she didn't want to do it. But the 2nd Mass needed him. More than she needed to be happy.

With her mind made up she moved to find a more comfortable position, but the abrupt turn to her side reminded her that there were currently stitches keeping the hole in her side closed up. Her sharp intake of breath startled Hal out of his sleep.

His half-lidded eyes found hers, the concern written all over his face.

"Hey, are you okay?" he asked sleepily.

"Fine," she replied as she fought to find a more comfortable position—a fake smile plastered on her face. "Just forgot for a minute that my side was full of stitches."

He grinned and shook his head in return, the care evident behind his eyes.

"Well I should let you get some sleep," he said as he moved to stand.

"No," Maggie responded a little too quickly. "Just a little while longer."

She was almost certain he didn't catch the flash of panic behind her eyes.

He stared at her for a few seconds, nodded and settled back down, once again taking her hand in his.

Letting out the breath she didn't know she was holding, Maggie closed her eyes.

_Would he call her bluff?_ She wondered as she drifted off.

She hoped.


End file.
